


Fragments of Time

by GlimmerOfGold



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Ancient Greece, Angst, Comfort, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by The Song of Achilles, Love, M/M, Romance, They're cute and they're hurting, so nothing out of the ordinary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27920926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlimmerOfGold/pseuds/GlimmerOfGold
Summary: "Love was a peculiar thing, he thought as he laid by his side, listening to the steady sound of his lover's breathing. It was something that time had allowed him to grow accustomed to, yet it never failed to surprise him in its depth. The moment Achilles left this world behind he would follow him, and not a single person – neither divine nor mortal – would be able to stop him."Or: Patroclus reflects on the past, the present, and the future.
Relationships: Achilles & Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Achilles/Patroclus, Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Achilles/Patroclus of Opus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Patrochilles
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Fragments of Time

The sun had almost set, only a few rays of golden light remaining, warm against Patroclus' skin. It was surprisingly quiet that evening, the only sound that of the waves washing against the shore, urged on by the wind. It had only been recently, after years of trying to understand the comfort Achilles could draw from the sea, that he had begun to find it as well. There was a calmness that lay in gazing upon the endless horizon, in watching the steady ebb and flow of the water. Maybe it had been Thetis' looming presence that had made him blind to its beauty before, but these days not even that seemed to matter anymore.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps on the sand. They were swift and quiet, barely there, yet to him their sound was unmistakable. There was no need for him to turn his head to identify who was approaching – he would know him anywhere.

“You have returned.”

His hand found the other man's as soon as he settled by his side. He knew what would come next, their nights always the same now. Yet he needed this ritual as much as Achilles did, a small reminder of the other's humanity as he washed himself and his soul clean from what had happened on the battlefield.

“I always do.”

 _I always do._ The words echoed in his mind long after the other had spoken them, seeming to mock him. _For now_ , he wanted to reply, his heart clenching at the very thought, yet he remained silent. They both knew what the future would bring, though most of the time it remained unspoken between them, neither willing to face such pain before it became a necessity. And was it not a pain he would need to cope with on his own once the day came?

As he turned to face his lover, he was grateful to find his complexion free of the blood he had shed. Seeing his smooth skin stained with the evidence of the fight never failed to fill his mind with images he would rather not acknowledge, would gladly remain blind to.  
It could have been easy to pretend Achilles had not taken dozens of lives just moments ago, hadn't it been for the dampness of his hair - its golden color slightly darkened by the water he had washed it with - and the metallic smell that always seemed to follow him now. Somewhere beneath it the scent of almonds and sandalwood still lingered. The scent of their youth, one that he had always considered uniquely Achilles'.  
Face pressing to the man's neck, he inhaled deeply in a quest to find even the smallest trace of it. Fragments of the boy he had known still remained underneath all that armor, that much he was sure of.

“Are you well?”

It was a quiet invitation, an offer for the other to share what he had experienced that day. He could still remember the first raid Achilles had returned from, the giddy excitement and nervous guilt that had filled his eyes as he had spoken of it. The prince took pride in his skill, and who was he to blame him? There was, after all, divinity flowing in his blood, not a single man able to match him out on the battlefield. It was his destiny to fight – as much as it was his own to take the weight off his shoulders when he returned.

“The battlefield, it is always so ...” He seemed to think then, brows knitting together in concentration. Patroclus loved that about him, the way he always considered his answer before giving it, determined to find exactly the right words to describe the way he was feeling. “Singular,” he finally settled for, his gaze searching his beloved's. “Blood was shed by my hands, but only of those who sought to fight.”

Once again that strange mixture of guilt and awe. It was clear Achilles needed these moments of confession in order to leave what had happened behind, to clear his conscience and do it all over again the next day – and so Patroclus would sit and listen every night, not even flinching anymore at the gruesome details the other described, not a trace of judgment in his eyes. They were long past the day when Achilles' actions had still been his free choice – if they had ever been. All he could do now was soothe his conscience and make it as bearable for both of them as possible.

“You must be tired.”

Warm brown eyes sought out piercing green ones, getting lost in them for a moment. They reminded him of spring on Pelion, the sun falling through the young leaves. More often than not he found himself longing for these days, free of all worry. Their only obligation had been to keep themselves alive then – not even their lessons had felt like a burden.  
Gently, his hand came up to cradle the hero's cheek.

“Do you wish to return to the tent?”

There was a pause, Achilles clearly as lost in his thoughts as he was. For a brief moment, he wondered whether the same memories were filling his mind, but he didn't get the chance to linger on the thought.

“Only if you will come with me. I missed you today. I thought of you often out there.”

It almost made Patroclus laugh, filled him with a confusing sense of joy. He should not have found pleasure in the fact that the other slayed men with him on his mind, yet it was not beyond him to understand. There was not a single moment of a single day that Achilles was not in his own thoughts, after all. Sometimes he found himself hoping that this simple connection would be enough to keep the other alive, would protect him when the day came that he would not return from the fight in victory. But of course that was only foolish wishing, not something he could rely on. Nothing could stop the Fates – especially not a mere mortal like Patroclus.

“I missed you, too,” he assured him as they walked back towards the camp, his hand only releasing his lover's as other men came into sight. It hardly mattered now, he often caught himself thinking, yet deep inside he still feared putting Achilles' honor at risk as much as he feared Thetis' reaction to it. It was what the other would be remembered for, the only thing that would remain as he was taken to his early grave – he would not cast a shadow upon it because of his own pride.

“Though I was plenty busy myself today. Many men have returned wounded, and they need to regain their strength quickly if they are to aid you in battle.”

While Achilles, without a doubt, would have been able to take on the whole of the Trojan army by himself, it still soothed him that there were many others fighting by his side. His lover's carelessness filled him with fear sometimes, and though he knew he was safe as long as only Hector lived, it was comforting to know someone was watching his back when he himself could not.

“Chiron would be proud of you.” A pause. “ _I_ am proud of you.”

The prince did not bother to lower his voice, the curious glances following them only seeming to drive him closer to his side. Patroclus could feel the color rise high on his cheeks, though he knew there would be no judgment – at least not publicly. Achilles was _Aristos Achaion_ , the man who would put an end to this war, even if he might not live to see it himself. They could not risk to offend him, nameless soldiers and generals alike. Yet he knew there were whispers about them behind their backs and so he just smiled gratefully in response. Achilles, however, seemed to not be done with his compliments just yet.

“You'll have people demanding your help day and night if you continue saving lives at such a pace.”

It was that which truly made him laugh, the sound cutting through the silence of the night.  
He could remember well the day on Pelion when Achilles had first asked Chiron to teach them how to fight – the awe in the centaur's eyes at the young prince's skill and the fond judgment at Patroclus' lack of it. It hadn't come to his surprise, even back then. He had never considered himself much of a fighter, yet he had been grateful to be presented with an opportunity to be of use regardless.  
Healing, he had quickly found, was something he genuinely enjoyed, even though he couldn't quite place why. Maybe it was the desire to keep his own hands busy rather than to simply sit and worry while the other was gone. Or maybe – and the truth of this particular reason weighed down heavily on him – he was trying to make up for the fact that one day there would be a life he would not be able to save, the one life that mattered the most.

“I'm glad to be of help. I would surely lose my mind if I were to only wait for your return, and I would not last a moment on the battlefield on my own.”

He shook his head to himself as he held the tent flap open for Achilles, allowing him to step inside first. No matter how small, the space had quickly turned into their own private sanctuary, a division between them and the war raging outside. In here they were not _Aristos Achaion_ and his _Therapon_ , they were merely two men, just like they had only been two boys all those years ago on Pelion.

“You would never be on your own.”

The other's reply was quick and he knew it was true. Sometimes in the beginning, Achilles had convinced him to join him on the field, eager to show off his skill. The hero's eyes had not left him for a single moment and every man who had dared to choose Patroclus as his target had fallen before he had even been able to approach. Yet he had found hardly any enjoyment in it, had been but a distraction to Achilles, and so the times he had taken him along had become less and less frequent until he had finally stopped entirely.

“I know.”

He stepped to his lover's aid as he began to discard his armor, his fingers moving on their own as he helped him strip of it. It was a task they'd performed countless times in the past years, eager to erase any trace of the fight. He knew the other was grateful for it, and yet his words pierced his heart like an arrow.

“Where would I be without you?”

“Right here.” Patroclus' own voice was barely above a whisper; he did not trust it to sound as strong as he wanted it to as the thoughts flooded his mind. “You would be right here, as the Fates wish you to be.”

That much he knew to be true. But would that Achilles be the same as the one he knew? Or would he instead be the man that, without a doubt, countless songs would one day make him out to be – godlike, free of human vulnerability but just as free of the emotion that came with it? Would the Gods have granted him immortality if it hadn't been for Patroclus to chain him to the world of the mortals? Would his destiny be a different one?

He did not dare to linger on the thought, though he knew it was possible. Maybe that was why Thetis despised him so. Would it not be his presence that would eventually be the cause of Achilles – very human – death? Yet how could he deny this man anything, even if it was something as small as his own heart?

Closing his eyes for a moment, he pressed his lips to his lover's shoulder. “But I know that … for reasons entirely selfish, I do not wish to be anywhere you are not.”

“That is not selfish, Patroclus.” The man's tone was gentle, yet determined as he spoke. “It is the only thing I will ask of the Gods, to spend the rest of my days by your side.”

It was like him to make vows that would be impossible to keep for anyone but him. For the Gods did not care about their happiness, that much Patroclus had learned. Not even Thetis seemed to understand the bond they shared. But Achilles, stubborn and goodhearted as he was, would fight even Zeus himself to get what he wanted.

He smiled against the lips pressing to his own, familiar and sweet as honey, allowing himself to be drawn closer. “Not even they could keep me from you.”

Another bold promise, yet this too he knew to be true. The moment Achilles left this world behind he would follow him, and not a single person – neither divine nor mortal – would be able to stop him. His place had always been by the other's side, their souls intertwined to such an extent that he knew he would not be able to live even a single day without him.

“I promised you once and I will promise you again. I will follow you anywhere, in life as much as in death.”

It was something Patroclus had never said aloud before. He knew how easily rage came to Achilles, how quickly it threatened to overwhelm him and make him blind to anything else. Yet this, he figured, was something that both of them had known for a long time – they were two parts of a whole. There would never be one without the other.

He could hear Achilles sigh, could feel his warm breath tickle his skin as he rested his forehead against his own. “Then it seems death is not something I will fear, if you are to be next to me,” he heard him speak of the only comfort that still seemed to remain.

It was an idea they both would need to get used to, sooner rather than later. Their time together on this earth could be counted in days now rather than years. He often found himself wondering what it would be like, that very last moment. Would he be by Achilles' side when it happened, would he be able to follow him right away? Or would he have to spend dreadful moments of time still alive while the other was already gone?

“Let us not dwell on it,” he cut off his own string of thought, a sudden determination filling his voice. Their last moments together in this life would not be spent in sadness, that much he would make sure of.

Gently but forcefully his hands maneuvered the other towards their shared pallet, no doubt in his mind that – even though Achilles possessed more energy than most others – the fight had tired his body. And just as he had expected, he could see of a hint of relief cross his lover's features as he laid, inviting him to settle by his side without hesitation.

“Do you wish to rest?” he asked, his head cocked to one side in question as he studied his face, hand tracing along his shoulders, tense from throwing spear after spear. “Or is there something else you need?”

It was playful, a question he already knew the answer to. It had become an unspoken game of theirs, gentle teasing when neither one's thoughts were much of a secret to the other. Back when they had still been boys he likely would not have dared, too flustered by the other's presence to even think of making such a suggestion. Yet that had been a long time ago.

The reply he received from his lover was not verbal, but he could hear it loud and clear nonetheless. _You_ , it sounded in every touch, _I need you_.

He still remembered the first time they'd laid like this, limbs entangled and hands eager to touch every patch of skin reachable. He remembered the way his breath had caught in his throat, how his heart had threatened to jump right out of his own chest. A smile crossed his lips at the memory of Achilles above him, outlined against the stars that had been painted to the cave's ceiling. He had outshone them all in his brightness.

It had been then that he had first memorized the lines of Achilles' body, yet as he traced them now he knew he would never grow tired of it. There were his arms and neck, grown strong during the war. His chest that he had watched become more defined as they'd changed from boys to men. Achilles was all sharp edges now, yet somehow still soft underneath his hands, never failing to fill him with awe.

He could feel his lover inhale sharply as his fingers wandered lower, across his firm stomach and the skin of his thighs, places that were his to touch alone. “Patroclus,” came the whispered response, “My Patroclus.”

_Pa-tro-clus._

He had once confessed to Achilles how he liked the way he spoke his name, taking his time to give every single syllable the attention it deserved while most others stumbled over each sound. Since then, he had heard him say it countless times and in many different ways – lovingly, breathlessly, in desperation and demand. Yet he had always made sure to put exactly that same precise care to the task. It had made his cheeks grow warm as a boy and even now it was not past him to react to it, his hands ceaseless in their movements across Achilles' body.

Love was a peculiar thing, he thought later as he laid by his side, listening to the steady sound of his breathing. It was something that time had allowed him to grow accustomed to, yet it never failed to surprise him in its depth. He knew he would forgive anything in its light, would do anything the other asked him to, if only he got to hear him call him _his_ one more time.

Many years ago, in the dim light of a rose quartz cave, Achilles had somehow succeeded to take all fear of the future from him. Now, he knew, it was up to him to return the favor - to assure that his lover's mind would stay right there in the present moment with him, rather than drift to what the next day would bring.

There was only so much time the Fates had given them, and he was not going to waste a single second of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Something overcame me, so this is the result of three hours of absolutely chaotic writing.  
> I'd appreciate any feedback or suggestions!


End file.
